A Tower of Tales
by Ell Roche
Summary: Tales from 'A' Tower. Glimpses of what might happen to the Avengers in a multitude of universes. A ficlet collection.
1. The Green Guardian

**Title:** The Green Guardian

**Pairing:** Bruce Banner/Darcy Lewis

**Warnings:** Nightmares, minor PTSD, and age difference.

**Note:** I'm starting an Avengers ficlet collection. I'll be pulling prompts from the memes on live journal, but feel free to leave prompts in reviews. Het or Gen only. I don't mind genderbending. I won't write smut.

* * *

Darcy wakes up with tears streaming down her face and a throat that hurts worse than when she got Mono in high school. Her hair is a knotted mess, and her chest is heaving against the old jersey she wears to bed, threatening to split the worn material in half. The bedcovers are a disaster area, pillows having fallen to the floor and sheets tangled around her.

She casts her eyes about frantically, darting from shadow to shadow, but the Destroyer doesn't turn its sights on her. She can't see the spinning cannon on its arm, or the molten glow of the fire. At least, not outside of her head. As she struggles to free herself from the sheets, she remembers what it was like to face the Destroyer, to stare it head on and know that she was going to die in the middle of the fricking desert, just because she applied for a stupid internship to finish her degree. The _God of Thunder_, Thor, lay on the ground, defeated and useless. If a god couldn't destroy it, what hope did she have to survive?

None. None at all.

"Miss Lewis?" asks JARVIS, a hint of concern in his voice. "Is something wrong?"

Darcy jumps at the sound of the disembodied voice and stumbles out of her room as quickly as she can. The jersey doesn't even reach her knees, but she doesn't care. All she can think in her rattled, post-nightmare state is that JARVIS is an AI with the power of Tony Stark behind him. If he wants to, he can burn the world to the ground.

She takes the stairs, tripping more than once on her way up them, because JARVIS controls the elevators. And maybe it's not JARVIS. Maybe the Destroyer is back, has a voice. Maybe Loki reached out from his prison on Asgard to lay waste to New York once more—starting with Avengers Tower.

Darcy yanks open the door and sprints down the hallway, weaving left and right as if dodging incoming fire. The tears streaming down her face won't stop, blur her eyesight even more than her missing glasses, but she doesn't have time to wipe them away. She's choking on her fear when she rips open the door to his bedroom.

Bruce startles badly, the Starkpad in his hands cracking. "Darcy?" he asks, bewildered.

She runs forward and dives onto his bed, huddling as close to his side as she can get. She curls her fists around his arm, sobbing and trying to get him even closer.

"What happened, Darcy?" asks Bruce, a harsh crackle in his voice—the Hulk peeking out. He flinches immediately after, but it reassures her more than anything else.

"Please let me stay! Please, Bruce! Please!" she begs, nails digging into his arm. She tugs on him, as if she can use his body to cover her from head to toe, a living shield or blanket.

"Darcy?" Bruce leans over her, eyes tinged with green.

"The Hulk killed a giant mutant space turtle! It can kill the Destroyer! Please let me stay, Bruce. Please. Please. Please!" she whimpers, body shuddering with each plea that falls from her lips. The Hulk is invincible; she will be safe with him. In fact, nothing in the world could be safer.

Bruce swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and Darcy is peripherally aware that he suddenly looks utterly terrified. "You feel safe here?"

"Only with you. Just you," she babbles. She uses his distraction to pull him fully over her and burrows her head against his chest.

"I'm not safe, Darcy," says Bruce, and not for the first time either. That's his response every time she tries to convince him that she loves him. Really, really loves him. And _no _a younger, normal man isn't a better option.

"You're powerful enough to kill the Destroyer," she slurs, eyelids falling as exhaustion swamps her. She doesn't want to go back to sleep, because the Destroyer is lurking in her head. But if Bruce is right here . . . if the Hulk is touching her, nothing else will be able to.

"Thor, Steve, Tony—any of them would be a better option, Darcy!" Bruce declares as he struggles. "I'm not safe!" He sounds panicked, as if Darcy believing him to be a safe haven is the scariest thing he's ever heard in his entire life.

Though she can feel him trembling against her in terror, knows he might Hulk out above her, she doesn't care. Because she loves Bruce Banner and The Hulk, and she trusts them with her fragile heart, even if they don't think they can hold it in their hands without accidentally crushing it. "Don't want them," she mumbles, as the veil of sleep consumes her. "All I've e-ever wanted . . . is you. Love y-you."

Bruce stills, and then folds over her like a full-body kevlar suit, not allowing one strand of her hair to show. She sleeps peacefully, smiling against his chest, and he guards her from vicious nightmares.


	2. Big Brother, Little Brother

**Title:** Big Brother, Little Brother

**Pairing:** Gen

**Warnings:** Post-Avengers.

* * *

Loki stood on the sidewalk of New York City, green eyes fixed on the cafe across the street. Thor's loud laughter echoed across the distance, and his stomach clenched with hatred. That was Thor's real laugh, Thor's special laugh, the laugh Thor had only ever given to Loki before now. It was his indulgent—for little brothers only—laugh. And he was giving it to the Soldier.

The Soldier waved his hands in a grand motion as he leaned forward and spoke excitedly. He commanded all of Thor's attention and wove a tale, amusing Thor with one adventure or another. That's Loki's duty! Loki was the storyteller—the one who enraptured his big, lug of a brother from beginning to end. Loki owned the silver-tongue.

Thor laughed again and slapped his hand down on the table, making it jump. Loki flinched. No. It's all wrong.

"Another!" Thor declared, and the Soldier grinned shyly, basking in the glow of Thor's approval, before starting a new story.

Loki clasped his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms until they bled. The bustle of pathetic mortals around him was of no consequence—not when his ire was so sharply focused. How dare the Soldier try and take his place? Loki was, and always had been, Thor's brother. Even though they're not blood brothers. They had fought together, been raised together, suffered punishment together. . . . Thor was _his_ big brother!

"You are clever indeed, Steven," Thor said, lips spread in a grin.

Loki shook with rage. Because he was only angry, right? It wasn't that other emotion—jealousy. He, Loki, _God_ of Mischief, was not jealous of an insipid mortal. Memories inundated him, memories of Thor telling Loki how clever he was. And now, somehow, an accursed mortal had earned the same distinction from _his_ big brother.

A car backfired, and both Thor's and the Soldier's heads swung toward it, muscles tensed for action. The sight of their faces so close together made Loki's stomach roil. The Soldier had blond hair and blue eyes, just like Thor. They were both tall and broad, with strong facial features. The Soldier, impossibly, could be taken as Thor's blood brother by those who didn't know the truth—that Thor was _his_. They matched so well . . . in a way Loki never had. Loki had never been fair-haired, unless he was bored and shape-shifting. He had never been broad; in fact, he was slender.

And Loki's eyes were not blue-they were the color of envy.

When Thor relaxed and turned around, no longer worried about the noise that sounded like a gunshot, he raised one hand and ruffled the Soldier's hair. _Ruffled the Soldier's hair!_ This was too much for Loki. Only he should ever know how reassuring it felt to have the massive hand pat his head. Loki was Thor's younger brother—not this—this— Loki's magic flared, and he almost lifted his hand and decapitated the Soldier.

But that would make Thor cry. Because Thor only ever cried when he thought someone he loved was dead—like Loki, once, when they were young. And this Soldier didn't deserve Thor's tears, because he was _not_ Thor's little brother.

Loki stormed across the street and yanked his brother's chair back. The Soldier rose to his feet, eyes wide with alarm. Thor blinked at him and then beamed. "Brother! What are you doing on Midgard? Has Father lifted your punishment?"

"Did you hear that, Mortal?" Loki hissed as he pointed at the Soldier. "He calls me 'brother'! _I_ am his little brother. Me!" The delighted look on Thor's face didn't escape his notice. "Stop trying to steal my place, Mortal! Thor's laughs and smiles are mine. He's _my_ big brother!" snarled Loki, before sitting in Thor's lap as he had done as a child. "You can't have him!"

Thor cuddled him close, which he only allowed so the mentally deficient Soldier would understand. Loki did not miss his brother's rare, insistent demands to cuddle. But even if he had—hypothetically—it was _his_ privilege as Thor's younger brother to fill that need.

The Soldier's face changed from battle ready to confused to stunned to amused so quickly that Loki wouldn't have been able to keep up if he weren't a god. "I'll consider sharing him with you, Loki," the Soldier said, lips twitching.

Loki surged forward, intending to wipe those horrific words out of existence. Princes of Asgard did not share! Before he could escape Thor's grip, a massive hand landed on his head. "Hush, little brother. Peace, Loki."

Calm fell over Loki, as it always did when Thor was guarding him so closely. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "This is not o-over, M-Mortal," he muttered sleepily. Loki absently tucked himself closer to his brother and hid his head under Thor's chin. "T-Thor's m-mine. . . ." His fists curled into Thor's shirt, grabbing it possessively. Then, with one last glare at the one who dared to try and usurp his place, Loki slept.


End file.
